


Plaything

by Make_It_Worse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Come as Lube, Connor (Detroit: Become Human) Is a Brat, Dom/sub Undertones, Hand Jobs, Hook-Up, Kink Negotiation, Light Bondage, M/M, Rough Sex, Sock garter cameo because I can, Threats of Violence, Who is the top here?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 02:56:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20220640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Make_It_Worse/pseuds/Make_It_Worse
Summary: It takes Hank all of five seconds to realize what this kid is up to. Either he’s mistaken Hank as someone with connections or he’s trying to piss off his handler.“Good for you. Get your hands off my beer and beat it, kid.” He waits, but the man appears more amused than intimidated.In the end, he sets the bottle down, but he leans in too close for comfort, “How can I beat it if I take my hands off it?”__When things aren't quite what they seem.





	Plaything

August in Detroit is Hank’s least favorite month. Everything had turned to sweat, even the beer bottle the bartender slides his way. It perspires while it waits for Hank to finish the last swigs of his first drink of the night. It’s crap beer and would take a lot to get him drunk, but that’s the point. After weeks of working undercover, he’d finally stopped pulling questioning glances from the scum that did their deals here.

He’s no closer to uncovering who the hell is running the drug operation, but people are a hell of a lot less quiet with their conversations now that they’ve gotten used to him. Smiling slightly beneath his beard, he reaches out for his beer. A slim hand with impossibly delicate fingers cuts across his torso, snagging it away. Hank’s eyes track up the arm to take in the owner of the pilfering hand.

He’s a young man somewhere around thirty, maybe a little older. It’s hard to tell in the dim bar lighting. He’s never seen this one in here before, but plenty of ass came and went from this place. A lot of people offered up their holes as a way in; Hank doesn’t doubt this kid is any exception.

“Born in a barn?” Hank asks gruffly. He can’t afford to appear like a target around this ilk.

The man shrugs, “It’s hot and you weren’t drinking it.”

Annoyed, he waves in the direction of the bartender, “Get your own drink.”

The man gives him an appraising look, “Didn’t say I was gonna drink it.” With a wink, he brings it to his neck and the moisture from the bottle mingles with the damp sheen of his skin.

He lets out a sigh bordering on obscene, “Much better.”

It takes Hank all of five seconds to realize what this kid is up to. Either he’s mistaken Hank as someone with connections or he’s trying to piss off his handler.

“Good for you. Get your hands off my beer and beat it, kid.” He waits, but the man appears more amused than intimidated.

In the end, he sets the bottle down, but he leans in too close for comfort, “How can I beat it if I take my hands off it?” He arches an eyebrow in challenge and an insane part of Hank twitches to life in his jeans. With a mental slap, he tells his dick to get a grip. He’s not going to take some kid home because he batted his eyelashes and offered to jerk him off at a bar.

_But maybe this guy knows something?_

It’s what he tells himself when he’s sliding into a cab beside him. It’s what he repeats in his mind to ease his guilty conscious when the kid all but crawls into his lap to nuzzle at his neck, his fingertips tracing the outline of Hank’s erection through his pants.

“I’m Connor,” he murmurs against Hank’s ear before biting at the lobe.

“Christ, kid,” he tries to push Connor off him without insulting him. He doesn’t mind the attention, but with his hips gyrating like that, Hank’s worried he’ll come in his pants like some horny teenager. It’s been a while since anyone other than himself has paid attention to his dick.

Connor’s room reaffirms Hank’s suspicion that he’s trying to slut his way up some social ladder that Hank isn’t privy too. The bed is all silk in a deep red that could only be described as sinful. Handcuffs of the fuzzy variety hang off the headboard and Hank can’t contain a snort at the sight.

“Didn’t take you for a fuzzy pink handcuff kind of guy,” Hank offers in response to Connor’s pout.

Connor’s pooched lower lip sucks back in as he smiles, “I’m not.”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Raging erection or no, Hank’s not about to let some criminal barfly tie him up to his bed.

“Relax,” Connor presses his hips flush to Hanks as his hands work at the buttons of his shirt. “They’re not real. Let me show you a good time.”

It’s lunacy, but Connor only needs the persuasion skills of a rock so long as he keeps shifting his hips against Hank’s like that. Hank knows he’s done for and tries not to look directly at the fuzzy pink circling his wrists.

Down to his boxers, Connor nuzzles at Hank’s cock through the thin fabric. Hank’s just glad they’re clean and free of holes.

“My, my,” Connor croons and Hank feels a burst of pride. In this department, he knows he’s more than adequate. “You are a big boy, aren’t you?”

Digging his ankles into the mattress, he lifts his hips to help Connor remove the last piece of clothing that stands between them. Hank tenses when Connor reaches for a plug just a shade too girthy to be comfortable.

“Relax, sugar,” Connor croons, “this isn’t for you.” His exhaled sigh of relief turns into a sharp inhalation as Connor swallows the tip of Hank’s leaking cock into his mouth. He can hear the lewd squelching sounds of Connor working himself open with the plug. It’s an awkward angle, but Hank can’t help but stare as Connor sets a rhythm of sucking and fucking himself with the toy.

Clearly no stranger to this, Connor’s breathing becomes heavy and his dick glistens with precum. He lets Hank’s cock slip from his lips and it falls heavily to his stomach, “Enough.”

He looms across Hank to paw around in a bedside drawer before emerging victorious with a condom in hand. He gives Hank a wink, “Safety first.”

Whatever role Connor plays within the gang, Hank’s certain he’s trying to fuck himself to death on his dick. That, or convert Hank; right now, he’s got him hook, line, and sinker. He rides hard with one hand braced against Hank’s shoulder and the other pumping his weeping erection. Hank’s pretty sure the kid is going to pop if he keeps it up. A few tugs later, Connor comes with a quiet gasp and pulls himself off Hank to flop beside him.

“Damn, kid.” Hank wheezes the words as Connor swirls his fingers in the mess on Hank’s stomach. Yanking off the condom, Connor starts to pump Hank’s shaft with cum-slick fingers.

“I got a little carried away,” Connor nods at his softening cock. “I should be good to go again in a bit.” Hank would marvel at Connor’s stamina, but Connor’s hands touching him are an effective distraction.

“However will we pass the time?” His tone is as teasing as his grip and Hank knows the brat is going to make him wait. He’s on the verge of argument when Connor dips low to flick his tongue over the slit of Hank’s dick. He swirls it around the edge of the head as if it’s ice cream melting on a cone.

“Hank Anderson,” the words ooze from his mouth followed by a pink tongue running across his upper lip. “A delicious flavor.”

Hank stares as Connor’s grin grows into a sinister slash across his face, “Lieutenant at the DPD.” Even as he speaks, his hand never stops stroking. Fear clashes into arousal and Hank’s dick jerks beneath Connor’s touch.

“Nothing to say for yourself?” Connor asks pleasantly, squeezing the tip of Hank’s cock.

“Fuck you.” Hank tries to spit out the words, but a deep groan ruins the effect.

Connor tilts his head and a curl flops in a facsimile of innocence, “But lieutenant, you already have.”

The use of his rank while trying to resist the urge to buck into Connor’s grip threatens to undo him. Connor ruts his hips against Hank’s, and Hank notices his erection has returned in full force.

Connor reaches around to sink two fingers into his loose hole, a debauched moan trickling from the corner of his mouth. Redirecting his gaze to meet Hank’s stare, he murmurs, “You could do it again if you’re willing to be a good boy.”

“Who…the fuck…are you?” He stumbles through the question when Connor leans down to mouth at the tip of Hank’s dick.

With an elaborate slurp, he pops off to answer, “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice a cop skulking around my boys?” Hank tries to yank out of the cuffs. They bite into the flesh of his wrists and Connor’s smile deepens.

“Bullshit,” he tries to call Connor’s bluff to buy him more time. Time to think. Time to do something. Time to—

Connor lurches off him to open the bedside drawer once more. A heavy metal thunk draws Hank’s attention as much as the glinting silver of the gun barrel does. Hank falls silent at the direct threat.

“Good boy,” Connor croons and boops Hank’s nose. “It pays to be a quick learner.” His mouth dips back down Hank’s dick in reward. If he wasn’t concerned about his immediate future, he’d be impressed with how much of his length Connor is able to swallow.

Still, a man has to have principles, “Get off me.” He bucks into Connor’s throat, silently gleeful when he gags.

Connor withdraws, wiping a hand across his mouth, “That wasn’t very nice.”

“Sue me,” Hank hurls back. His bravado withers at the look Connor gives him.

“I’d hoped we could come to an arrangement,” he rises, collecting his clothes.

Hank glares, trying to maintain his façade, “Why in the fuck would I work with you?”

Connor shrugs, one sock garter dangling from his hand, “Self-preservation doesn’t usually require this much persuasion.”

Grabbing at his pants, he digs around in his pockets and produces a phone. Turning to Hank, he snaps a picture with a deceptively soft smile.

“For posterity,” he says in response to Hank’s unspoken question. “Too bad. We could have worked well together.”

One foot makes it through a pant leg before Hank swallows his pride, “What do you want.”

Connor lets the slacks fall to the floor and he presses close into Hank’s space. Gripping his jaw, he tilts his head into a bruising kiss. Hank’s lips tingle with the force of it by the time Connor relaxes his hold.

With a satisfied sigh, Connor glances at Hank’s erection. Humiliation colors his skin pink from his navel to his forehead, “Sugar, a dick like that doesn’t come along every day. Play nice, look the other way when I tell you to, and _maybe_ I’ll let you get off.”

“This how you work? Threats and—” his speech cuts out in a surprised yelp when Connor tweaks at one puffy pink nipple.

“Between killing you and fucking you, I’d much prefer the latter.” Connor gives Hank a shit-eating grin before running his tongue in a broad stripe up his neck.

“Fine,” Hank grinds out between clenched teeth. If his options are sex or death, the answer seems fairly straightforward.

Not content to accept Hank’s submission at face value, Connor twists the knife a little deeper. Nibbling at Hank’s ear, Connor’s words caress like silk, “Manners, sweetheart. I only suck off good boys.”

“The fuck are you on abo—”

Connor’s hand shoots out to grip Hank’s chin, forcing his mouth into an O, “You show respect when speaking to me or I find a better use for your mouth. Understood?” Connor’s eyes drift to the gun and Hank knows he’s not referring to a blow job. His voice locks somewhere deep in his gut, but he has enough presence of mind to nod.

Connor drops his hand in favor of running his finger’s through Hank’s hair, “Good.” He resumes stroking Hank’s cock without preamble and Hank tries not to think too hard about why this turns him on so much. He startles when Connor moves to position himself over Hank’s cock once more. His fingers glisten with slick.

“What happened to safety first?”

Connor cocks an eyebrow at him, “I think you and I both know our lines of work are dangerous.” He sinks slowly down Hank’s shaft, savoring the stretch. Seated to the hilt, he brackets Hank’s head with slender forearms, “Fill me up, big boy. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Gripping at the restraints for leverage, Hank bucks up hard with a growl. The situation may have spiraled wildly out of control, but he can try his best to break the little shit in half with his dick. His back will hate him for it in the morning, but hearing the brat howl at the force of the impact is worth it. If his hands were free, he could grip him by the waist to really lay into him.

Connor shocks him out of his own head when he thrusts back down around Hank’s plunging cock. With a knowing grin, Connor’s words dance hotly over Hank’s face, “You can fuck harder than that, lieutenant.”

Hank snarls in irritation. He isn’t sure which is worse: Connor egging him on or the fact that it’s working. He pistons into Connor without restraint or consideration and a constant torrent of swears and moans spills from his mouth at his ceaseless thrusting.

“So good,” Connor groans as he collapses to Hank’s chest, still meeting each thrust. “I’m close.”

“I’m not,” Hank growls and he swears he hears Connor chuckle.

“Fuck me through it.” It comes out sounding a great deal more like an order than a request. How he manages it while impaled on Hank’s dick astounds him. A few ruthless thrusts later, Connor’s breath hitches and he utters a small, “_oh_,” of warning. Hank bucks into him brutally, fucking him as ordered. His release spills into the space between them and Hank doesn’t stop.

Connor’s groans grow softer, becoming oversensitive whimpers. Hank smiles viciously at the sound, driving into Connor with the force of a jackhammer. Connor cries out a wordless sound, holding onto Hank’s neck as he tears into him without mercy. Hank can feel wet tears on his chest and his hips keep moving. Connor sobs out the approximation of Hank’s name when he finally comes, spilling deeply into Connor’s abused hole.

Connor remains collapsed across Hank’s broad chest, breathing hard and Hank says nothing. He waits for Connor to give him some kind of a cue. When nothing comes, he flexes his chest against Connor’s face to get his attention.

Connor lifts his head to meet Hank’s gaze as he rumbles, “You alright?”

He relaxes when Connor gives him a blissed-out smile, “I don’t think you’ve ever fucked me that hard before. I’m coming back from space.”

Hank laughs and nods at the cuffs, “Can the astronaut release his captive?”

Connor fumbles with the latch, not ready to move yet. When he finally frees Hank’s wrists, he’s unsurprised to feel thick biceps wrap around him.

They need to clean up, but he doesn’t feel like doing much besides wiping up the bulk of the mess. Tossing the used rag to a dark corner of the room, he molds himself against Hank.

“Too much?” Connor asks, gesturing at the gun.

Hank laughs in response, “Nah. I know a prop when I see one. I trust you.” He’s quiet for a minute, spinning the ring on his finger; a nervous habit of comfort. Connor waits for the question, “How about you?”

“I’m fine, Hank. I asked for it.” He threads his fingers through Hank’s to stop his worrying. He smiles at the band on Hank’s hand that matches his own. “I missed you.”

Hank grumbles about Fowler and mandatory training out of state before muttering, “Missed you, too.” Almost as an afterthought, he mumbles, “And delete that picture.”

Connor lets out an exhausted laugh, “I didn’t really take one.”

“Brat,” Hank tugs Connor across his chest like a weighted blanket.

He’s pretty sure he’ll have to explain to Jimmy what in the hell that was all about the next time he goes to the bar, but he has plenty of time to come up with an excuse. If his husband wanted to get wrecked after weeks apart, who was he to turn him down?

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/WorseMake).


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